Journey to the Last Homely House
by Elwen
Summary: On the journey back to the Shire Frodo finds a new friend. FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

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The characters and main events of this story do not belong to me but to the imagination of JRR Tolkien. I am borrowing them and I apologise to him and to his heirs and executors for taking the liberty.

I am seeking to make no money from this and sincerely doubt that any would be forthcoming even if I did.

Although the story written here is not based on any specific role play,

the relationship illustrated between Frodo and Elrond has grown from a series of role-plays between 

Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End 

And as such I gratefully acknowledge FEBOBE's input.

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JOURNEY TO THE LAST HOMELY HOUSE

By the time the large entourage reached the borders of the Misty Mountains and set up camp Frodo was feeling very weary for the journey had been taken slowly but it had been long. For the latter part of that day, Frodo found his pony flanked by Elrond's sons, Elrohir and Elladan, and he suspected that they had been sent by their father for, on more than one occasion he saw the older elf turn in his saddle to glance back at them.

The hobbit felt a little cross at first that they should think he would need such coddling but Elrond's decision had proved to be correct. On at least two occasions during the afternoon Frodo found that he had nodded off, and awoke to find that Elrohir had wordlessly taken his pony's reigns and Elladan had placed a light hand on his back to steady him. As soon as they saw that he was alert enough to manage on his own the reins had been returned and the hand removed.

It was late into the evening by the time a halt was called. The large glen chosen was apparently well known to the elves for they organised and set up camp quickly. Frodo and his friends were led to a quiet corner by Elladan and instructed to rest while the elves organised food and tents.

Frodo felt relieved. He hoped Sam and the others had not noticed but when he had tried to dismount his legs had collapsed under him and Elladan had caught and held him up until he felt steady enough to manage on his own. Elladan and his horse had blocked everyone's view, as far as he could tell, for no one had said anything. As soon as he managed to regain control of his muscles Elrohir had led Frodo's pony away with the brother's horses and Elladan supported the little hobbit with a gentle hand on his back as he led him to the quiet corner allocated.

Beginning to feel cold, Frodo drew his elven cloak closer about him and was glad when the hobbits were led to a fire near the centre of the camp. There they found themselves seated with Galadriel, Celeborn and Gandalf and a little while later food was brought.

"Good evening, Frodo." The rich voice of the Lord of Imladris came soft to the hobbit's ear and Frodo turned, to find Elrond seated at his side.

Frodo blushed to find himself in such company, particularly when the elf set a plate of food in his lap and offered a small cup. "Err . . . Good evening, Lord Elrond. Thank you."

He found that his plate did not contain the same food as every one else, who seemed to be eating a stew, thick with meat and vegetables. Frodo's plate, however, contained a little skinned breast of roast fowl, some fresh soft bread and a few segments of apple. How Elrond had known that the thought of the stew had made the little hobbit's stomach churn he did not know but Frodo was grateful that he did.

"You should drink this first." Elrond whispered, as he placed the small cup of clear liquid in Frodo's hand. "It is miruvor. It will help to settle your stomach and strengthen you."

Frodo accepted it and took a sip. It worked almost instantly and he continued to drink slowly until the cup was drained. It combined with the warmth of the fire to still his shivering and made the thought of food a little more palatable.

Throughout the meal Elrond remained at his side, deftly steering aside any conversation that came Frodo's way so that the young hobbit could relax and eat his light meal undisturbed. And when Frodo finally set aside his plate he had left only a little of the bread and fowl and felt a lot better. Elrond rose without a word and, collecting Frodo's plate and cup along with his own, left the circle as silently as he had arrived.

When they were shown to their tents a little while later, Frodo discovered that he and Sam had been given one to themselves, Pippin and Merry having been found space with Gandalf. Once more Frodo was relieved. Whilst his recent experiences had calmed Pippin down a lot he was still a bit of a chatterbox and Frodo was not up to conversation tonight. Their saddlebags had been placed by their beds and here, too, Frodo found a change. Additional, light, blankets had been spread on his bedroll and a couple of feather filled cushions placed for his head.

Sam noticed and nodded approvingly. "Well, that's nice of them. I noticed you were shivering a bit last night, Mr Frodo."

Frodo looked at his friend in horror. "You didn't say something did you, Sam? I don't want everyone to think they have to coddle me all the time."

"Well, truth told, I had intended to ask for a couple of extra blankets. But it went clean out of my head. It looks like someone just guessed." His voice dropped. "You can never tell how much these elves know. After all this time I still can't look the Lord and Lady of the Wood or Master Elrond in the eyes. I feel like they're looking straight into my head all the time . . . like I didn't have no clothes on. I didn't rightly know where to look at supper." He blushed and Frodo had to laugh.

He suspected that he knew who had arranged the extra bedding and determined to thank Lord Elrond in the morning. At the moment, he was too tired to thank anyone and he crawled gratefully into the warm nest of soft covers and fell quickly asleep.

When he awoke next it was with a soft sob, escaping from some dark dream that lurked just short of his conscious mind. It was dark and he was cold, despite the extra covers, so that even pulling them closer did not warm his feet and back and he began to shiver again. Finally admitting defeat he decided to go outside. Perhaps one of the fires still burned. Gathering up a couple of covers and wrapping them about his shoulders, Frodo crept quietly from the tent, leaving Sam snoring softly.

Outside, he found several fires still burning and at one, some distance away, he could see Gandalf, Celeborn, Galadriel and Elrond seated. At least he assumed it was they for the figures were all hooded and cloaked in grey. They seemed to be talking but they must have been whispering for Frodo could hear no words. Perhaps they talked directly into each other's minds, he thought, remembering Sam's comments. He settled himself on a log by a fire nearer his tent and held his hands out to the cheery blaze, trying to coax some heat into his shivering frame. The flames flickered and danced but they did not warm him, even a little.

A movement across the glade made him glance up and he saw one of the seated figures at the other fire rise and glide towards him. Grey hooded it was difficult to tell who it was at first but as it drew closer, Frodo could see a long lock of raven black hair slipping out from the hood and knew that it must be Lord Elrond.

The elf hunkered down at Frodo's side and folded back his hood. Piercing grey eyes scanned his face and Frodo flinched when a hand reached out to lay fingers at the pulse pint at his wrist. "Are you having difficulty sleeping?" The lilt of the elven tongue still lingered; even when Elrond spoke Westron and the effect was one of gentle music.

"It's nothing. Just a bad dream and I'm a little cold. I'm probably just over tired," Frodo replied, but he did not pull away his wrist for he felt that a little warmth seeping into him from the elf's touch. As he looked at Elrond he noticed for the first time that there was a soft glow within him and, glancing down at his hand, he found that glow intensified at the point where Elrond touched his wrist. His eyes widened in surprise.

Elrond smiled, gently. "It would seem that the Ring has left one good legacy. You begin to see things more clearly."

"I see, but I do not understand what it is I am seeing," answered Frodo, breathlessly.

"You see the music within. It is clear to find in all, if you have the eyes to find it, but in elvenkind it is stronger than in mortals. Yet, I can see it within you, even now."

"In . . . me?" Frodo stared hard at his hand again but could see only Elrond's pale light, although the glow seemed to be moving up his chilled arm and the gentle warmth moved with it.

"Yes, Little Master. And what I see, concerns me. You are exhausted and you need to rest."

Frodo smiled, grimly. "I will not argue with that diagnosis but I cannot seem to get warm enough to sleep and when I do . . ." he swallowed, "there are dreams."

"If you will allow me, I can help," Elrond offered, finally releasing Frodo's wrist.

Frodo remembered waking in Rivendell to the warm welcome of the Last Homely House. Somewhere, deep inside there was a memory of the elven lord calling him gently from dark places, leading him back to sunlight. 

"Yes, please. I think I would very much like your help."

Elrond rose. "Can you walk?"

Frodo stood, weaving a little as his body adjusted to the change in position. "I think so."

He turned and took a step but when he moved to take another his knees gave way and the world spun alarmingly. Strong hands caught him before he fell and lifted him up so that when the gyrations slowed Frodo found that he was cradled like a child in Elrond's arms. He wanted to protest that this was very undignified for a grown hobbit but a part of him was relieved that he no longer had to put a brave face on matters, and it was that part that won out as the healer carried the little hobbit back to his bed.

At Elrond's gentle touch on his shoulder Sam stirred.

"Your master needs you, Samwise."

The words were all Sam needed to bring him to full wakefulness. "What's wrong?" He rose quickly and knelt at Frodo's side, alarmed to find him pale and shivering despite the extra blankets and what appeared to be Lord Elrond's cloak covering him.

"I'm sorry, Sam . . . so cold," was all Frodo could manage around chattering teeth.

The elven lord touched Sam's shoulder again and the hobbit looked up at him, face filled with fear.

"He will be well, Samwise. I want you to place some large stones to heat in the fire and boil some water. I will need to make some tea for Frodo. When the stones are hot wrap them in cloths and we will set them around him. Elladan will help you." When Sam seemed reluctant to leave his friend's side he added, "As quickly as you may, please."

Common sense took over, as it was ever wont to do with Sam, and he left quickly to carry out Elrond's bidding.

The healer knelt at Frodo's side and laid his left hand upon his brow. His right rested on his knee and so it was that the hobbit first saw Vilya, the ring of sapphire, the ring of air and one of the three elven rings, upon the third finger. It glowed with an inner light that seemed to increase even as Frodo watched and with its waxing he felt warmth seeping into his body from Elrond's palm. Frodo took a deep breath as his body's trembling slowed and his heart stopped hammering in his chest. The pale blue glow of Vilya waned and Elrond's hand was lifted from his head.

Tucking the covers more closely about his charge's shoulders, the healer leaned close, his mellifluous voice seeming to float directly into Frodo's mind. "Better now?"

Frodo nodded. "Much better. Thank you."

"You will say nothing of what you have just seen." It was not a request but a statement.

The ex-Ringbearer looked into the deep grey eyes of the elven Ringbearer. "I thought that the three rings would lose their power with the destruction of the One."

Elrond's smile was small and wistful. "The rings were ever only a means of focussing the power of those who held them. There will be a time of fading now. I sense it already but I have strength enough to wield Vilya yet. Power enough to aid you tonight at least."

Having stopped shaking and feeling quite relaxed in the warmth of the blankets; Frodo was already beginning to feel drowsy and was stifling a yawn when the tent flap opened and Elladan entered, carrying a small wooden box, which he handed wordlessly to his father. With a small smile to Frodo he left on silent feet.

The healer opened the box and began to sort through various small packets within, his elven sight easily reading their labels in the dim light. Selecting one, he set it on his knee and laid the box aside.

Again the tent flap parted and Sam and Elladan returned with arms full of oddly shaped parcels. These were placed at Elrond's side and he supervised Sam in their placement beneath the covers and around Frodo, particularly at his left side. The warmth of the cloth wrapped stones surrounding him helped Frodo relax even further and he sighed with relief as he uncurled and luxuriated in the heat, feeling truly warm for the first time in days.

Elladan returned with a cup of hot water and Elrond emptied the contents of the sachet on his lap into it, swirling the dried herbs briefly before setting it aside to steep for a few minutes. Sam sat down on his bed once more, watching, and curiosity got the better of him.

"What's in the cup, sir? If I may be so bold as to ask."

Elrond smiled and Frodo could not help but echo it when he heard the elf reply.

"Only camomile tea, Master Samwise. No elven magic, I am afraid." 

Sam looked a little disappointed.

"Would you be kind enough to go and ask Elladan to fetch my honey for it?" added Lord Elrond.

"Yes sir, right away." Sam fairly leapt from his bed and returned only moments later with a small, tightly stoppered earthenware jar and a silver spoon. Elrond held out the cup and Sam added two spoons of honey and stirred the tea.

Gently cradling Frodo's head on his arm, Elrond offered the warm camomile tea. It smelled wonderfully of toffee and Frodo swallowed it gratefully, unaware until then that his throat felt quite sore and dry. By the time the cup was empty he was having trouble staying awake to swallow and when Elrond finally lowered his head back into he soft cushions he slipped easily into sleep.

Settling himself cross-legged at Frodo's side, Elrond made himself comfortable and laid his hand lightly on his patient's breast.

"Begging your pardon, Master Elrond, but I can look after Mr Frodo now if you want to take some rest yourself," came Sam's hushed voice from behind him.

Elrond's lyrical whisper stole quietly across the distance between them. "I do not need to sleep, Samwise." The elf lord's eyes grew distant and Vilya flickered dimly. "You, however, do require rest. I suggest you lie down and sleep."

Sam yawned and suddenly found that he could hardly sit up. Perhaps he would sleep. Mr Frodo would be safe with Master Elrond and he lay down, falling instantly into a deep sleep. Elladan drew the blankets about him, tucking Frodo's friend in warmly before laying a hand briefly on his father's shoulder and leaving.

The Lord of Imladris nodded in satisfaction and then drew his mind back to the task in hand. His eyes grew hooded as he slipped into Frodo's dreamscape. Walking beside the little hobbit he gently pushed away any dark image that would seek to disturb Frodo's dreams and directed his steps through golden, sunlit valleys and silvered moon-washed meadows.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

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With acknowledgement to the inspiration of Frodo Baggins of Bag End. Best tray setter on the mush.

Elrond sensed his patient's returning consciousness and slipped out of his mind. Rising, he took a moment to stretch, before collecting his cloak from the heap of covers and leaving the tent silently. He found Samwise talking with the other two hobbits. Merry spoke up first.

"How is he, Lord Elrond?"

The healer smiled. "He is well, Master Merriadoc . . . Simply over tired . . . it has been a long journey for him, in many ways."

He turned to Sam. "Your master is waking now. He will need breakfast. A little oatmeal perhaps and some camomile tea? If you bring them to me I will provide some honey to sweeten them." 

Sam jumped to comply, although it was only moments ago that he had looked into the tent to see his master still deeply asleep beneath Elrond's protective hand.

When he awoke the Frodo was a little surprised to find that he was alone. Sam's bedroll was neatly folded and he could hear the sound of people moving about outside. At least, he could hear the voices of folk moving about outside, he corrected himself, for elven footfalls were nearly imperceptible

He felt rested but his throat was sore, his nose itched and when he tried to sit up he discovered that he had a mild headache. Recognising the symptoms at once, he lay back with a groan. A cold was the last thing he needed now. He curled up in his warm cocoon of blankets again. At least he was no longer shivering.

But the change in position made his nose start running and he sighed, sitting up as he fished about in his pockets for a handkerchief. He was blowing his nose when Sam entered, carrying a small bowl and a cup. His face lit up when he saw Frodo.

"Master Elrond said as how you'd be awake about now. Are you feeling better?"

Frodo grimaced. "Better than last night, certainly, but it looks as though I've now got a cold. Still, never mind. After what we've been through a little cold is nothing, is it?"

Sam's face grew concerned. "Do you want me to fetch Master Elrond? Maybe he can give you some elven medicine."

Frodo shook his head, regretting the action when it exacerbated his headache. "No, Sam. I think I can manage to cope with a simple cold."

"If you say so, Mr Frodo." He handed over the bowl and cup. They contained warm, creamy oatmeal with a swirl of dark honey and camomile tea. Frodo's stomach rumbled and he tucked in, a little saddened when he found his nose so stuffed up that he could not really taste them. By the time he had finished the tea Sam had returned with a bowl of hot water for him to bathe and Frodo tidied himself up before heading out to face the world once more.

Galadriel looked up, her eyes following the ex-Ringbearer as he crossed the glade. Her gaze returned to Elrond and her voice drifted into his mind. 

"I sense something wrong in Frodo. Are you sure he was only tired?"

Elrond looked at her quizzically. "There are many "wrong" things in Frodo's body. His frame holds the marks of many injuries, both physical and mental. Which one are you referring to?"

The Lady of the Golden Wood ignored the slight tone of censure in her kinsman's voice, willing to let it slide by her on this occasion. 

"I was not referring to any of them. There is something more. I believe it may be some illness peculiar to mortals for it is something I have not encountered before." Her voice takes on a wry note. "Perhaps that is why you did not sense it?"

Elrond sighed. In any tussle with Galadriel he always lost. He had to admit that sometimes it was fun trying, though. "I will go and check on him."

About the campsite the elves were busying themselves with various duties or sitting talking. To one side a small group were tuning instruments, practising a song and, in a quiet corner, still sat Galadriel, Elrond, Celeborn and Gandalf.

As he crossed the campsite Elrohir approached him. "Good day, Frodo. Are you well?"

"Quite well, thank you."

He had only taken a few steps more when Elladan gave him a cheering greeting. "Hello Frodo. Feeling better?"

Frodo forced a smile. "Yes, thank you."

When he located the other hobbits their faces, too, were concerned and Pippin insisted on leading him to a log and sitting him down.

"Are you all right, Frodo?" asked Merry.

Frodo was about to answer but had to make a grab for his handkerchief as he sneezed loudly. He wiped his nose irritably. "Aside from a slight cold I am perfectly alright and I'm going to kick the next person who asks me that!"

Pippin looked up and behind his cousin, mouth open and eyes twinkling and from behind Frodo came a soft voice. 

"Good morning, Master Frodo. Are you well, today?"

Frodo winced and looked back and up, into Lord Elrond's calm features. The little hobbit could not work out whether the elf had heard his last comment but thought he may have detected a slight twitch to the corners of the healer's mouth. To one side he heard Pippin stifle a giggle and then yelp, presumably because Merry or Sam had just elbowed him in the ribs.

Now that he was closer Elrond could, indeed, sense something different within Frodo. It was fortunate that Galadriel had noticed it so soon and Elrond tried to put aside his irked feelings at not having seen it when he sat at Frodo's bedside earlier.

Frodo turned and stood. "I am feeling much better, thank you, Lord Elrond." As he spoke he could feel a tickle building at the back of his throat and, just as he got to the end of the sentence, his body betrayed him, sending him into a fit of coughing that set his nose running and made his eyes water. When he finally recovered, wiping eyes and nose once more, he found his friends and Elrond watching him, disbelievingly. The elf pressed him back down onto the log, hunkering down before him, and Frodo sighed in resignation.

"It's just a cold. Everyone gets them, occasionally." Even as he said it Frodo remembered that elves did not.

"So I understand," Elrond replied calmly. He laid a hand on Frodo's forehead. The fingers felt cool and Frodo suspected that this meant that he had a bit of a temperature. Elrond dropped his fingers to Frodo's wrist, testing the pulse, and the little hobbit tried to read the healer's expression. Unfortunately, he discovered that, in common with many healers, the elf had developed the knack of schooling his face to give nothing away.

The hand was removed. "It was always our intention to stay here for a few days so, in a way, it is fortunate that you developed this cold now. You will have time to rest and recover before we have to move on. I suggest you return to your bed today, to allow your body some rest." When Frodo made to protest the elf forestalled him with a raised hand. "It has been a long journey, you are at a low ebb and you have a slight fever. I will send some teas to Samwise to help you sleep and ease some of the symptoms."

Frodo blew his nose. The idea of becoming a burden yet again did not appeal but the easing of some of his symptoms did so he decided to give in gracefully. "Very well. Thank you, Lord Elrond." The elf rose and left, as silently as he had arrived.

Pippin exploded into gales of laughter. "I didn't see you kick him."

Frodo laughed as he stood to leave. "Oh, shut up, Pippin. Or I shall kick you instead." 

The teas Elrond sent did, indeed, help Frodo rest. In fact, for two days he was aware of little for, every time he roused from sleep, Sam was waiting with more tea and he was too drowsy to protest. But when he awoke on the morning of the third day he felt much improved. His nose had stopped running, his headache had gone and his throat no longer hurt, although his chest felt a little tight, but Frodo decided that it would probably ease off once he started moving about.

He was just considering getting dressed when the tent flap opened and Sam entered, carrying a small tray. Frodo groaned.

"No more tea, please, Sam. I don't think I shall need to sleep again for a week."

Sam laughed and set the tray in Frodo's lap. "Well, there is tea, Mr Frodo. But it's not the same as you've been takin'. Master Elrond said this one would build you up a bit."

Indeed, the tea did smell different, although it still carried the warm smell of toffee. And with it was a selection of small tempting dishes; a bowl of smooth oatmeal with a swirl of honey and cinnamon, fresh bread rolls with a pat of soft yellow butter on the side and a tiny dish of blackberry conserve, a cup of light vegetable broth, two softly boiled eggs in a dish, a small plate of creamed mushrooms surrounded by little triangles of toast, a little apple juice and a small cup of clear liquid.

Frodo picked up the smallest cup and sniffed the contents, dubiously. There was no smell but he suspected that it was not water. "What is this?"

"Master Elrond said as how you were to drink that first. He said it would help your appetite." Sam shook his head. "Although why he should think that a hobbit would need help with his appetite I don't know."

Frodo tasted, finding that it was miruvor, and sipped slowly as he tried to decide what to eat first. By the time he had finished the cup he had decided on the mushrooms.

Elrond had noticed Sam enter Frodo's tent and waited quietly by the fire. He would give his patient some time before going to check on him. It was only as he saw Sam leaving with the tray some time later that the healer approached the tent.

Frodo looked up in surprise as Lord Elrond arrived. Kneeling at Frodo's bedside he felt his patient's forehead and pulse.

"You seem much improved, Frodo."

"I am feeling a lot better, thank you," Frodo smiled. "I was just thinking of getting up," he added, hopefully.

"I do not see why you should not. Although I suggest that you do not overtax yourself," Elrond replied. He was just about to get up when Frodo coughed. It was not a particularly bad cough but the healer paused and Frodo grimaced when he saw the elf settle down again and eye him, carefully.

"I always get a slight cough after a cold. I usually goes within a few days. It's nothing to worry about."

Elrond merely speared him with a look and laid his head against the small chest for a moment. "Breathe in, please." Frodo took a deep breath. "Now, out again." Frodo complied, trying not to cough when he realised that he had inhaled too deeply.

The healer drew back. "There is a little congestion. It is nothing to worry about at the moment but if it does not clear up in the next few days or grows worse, come and see me."

Frodo nodded, relieved to be let off the hook and grateful that he would not be forced to drink more teas.

Elrond rose smoothly to his full height and left, in a swirl of grey velvet robes.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

For five more days they camped at the foot of the Misty Mountains and Frodo rested as instructed. His cough did not improve but it got no worse either so he decided not to bother Lord Elrond about it, for the three high elves spent much of their time in conversation with Gandalf and the hobbits saw them only from a distance.

Frodo took to wandering through the surrounding woodlands on his own. He had not had the chance to be alone since he and Sam had awoken in Ithilien and he needed to sort and sift through his emotions. Occasionally he would come across other wanderers but more often he could find some quiet path and walk undisturbed for hours.

On one particular occasion he came across two of Lord Elrond's household out for a stroll. Not feeling up to engaging in conversation and not wanting to disturb them, Frodo stepped off the path and behind a tree, out of sight, blending into the scenery as only a hobbit could. Their soft voices drifted to him as they passed.

"So which one of the little folk is the Ringbearer. I am afraid they all look alike to me."

His companion laughed. "The slender one."

"Oh . . . the sickly one. He hardly looks strong enough to have undertaken the journey."

"He does seem to suffer a lot of ill health. Perhaps the journey made him so. If that is the case he is to be pitied."

"Indeed."

Their voices faded as they disappeared into the trees. Frodo looked down at himself. The clothes he had worn on the journey to Mordor were too badly torn to wear again so he had been given a new suit when he awoke in Ithilien. It fitted him very well and he was still wearing it. Sam, on the other hand, had put on so much weight that he had outgrown two suits and was almost back to his old rounded self. 

Frodo blinked back a tear. Did everyone consider him sickly? He had eaten all he could manage, although often nowadays he did not feel hungry, had taken all their tonics and teas and yet he just couldn't seem to regain his old strength or weight. And now, on nearly the last leg of their journey home he had become ill again. Well, that was enough. He would not be known as the sickly one. He straightened. He would show them that he was perfectly well.

Over the next days Frodo put on his brightest face. He laughed and joked with Merry and Pippin and sat and talked to many of Elrond's folk, practising his Quenya and Sindarin.

Elladan and Elrohir would come often and talk with the hobbits and Frodo found them to be much less daunting than their kinfolk. He took pains to suppress his coughing whenever they were around however, suspecting that they reported his progress back to their father and he was getting a bit fed up of having his every sneeze and twitch analysed. It was bad enough that Sam watched him like a hawk.

"He seems well enough, Ada," announced Elrohir at supper. 

His father looked across the campsite to the fire where the hobbits had congregated. Frodo appeared to be as animated as the rest . . . if not a little more so. But there was a slight edge to his laughter that sounded hollow and empty.

"Nonetheless, when we start riding tomorrow I want you and your brother to take up position behind the hobbits," Elrond instructed.

"Must we?" Elladan asked. "I was hoping to ride with Rivan. He has a new song that he said he would teach me."

Elrond raised and eyebrow. "This is important, Elladan. You have plenty of time to learn the song. I believe Frodo needs your presence now," he censured.

Suitably chastened Elladan replied, "Of course, Ada. I apologise."

His father squeezed his arm in acceptance.

On the next day, the seventh, camp was struck and the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood and their folk left to return to their own land. The hobbits, along with Lord Elrond's people and Gandalf, stood and watched the fair folk of Lorien until their grey company melted into the landscape and disappeared from mortal sight. Lord Elrond stood for some time longer, his keen elven sight following the Lorien elves until he, too, could no longer pick them out in the gathering dusk.

Just as they left the edge of his vision, Elrond felt Galadriel's voice in his mind.

"There is still a wrongness in him."

Elrond tried to keep his amusement out of the reply. "I know. I have it in hand."

The packhorses were already loaded and Elrond's return to camp was the signal for everyone to saddle horse and pony. Within the hour all were mounted and the journey across the mountains to the Last Homely House continued.

Gandalf and Elrond were at the head of the train. Some of the elf lord's household rode next and the hobbits, on their sturdy ponies, found themselves placed at the centre of the party, with Elladan and Elrohir travelling directly behind them. At the rear came the baggage. The significance of the hobbits being placed at the centre of the train was not lost on Merry, who had travelled thus before. It was the safest place to be in case of any trouble. The downfall of the Dark Lord did not mean that his minions had disappeared and the Misty Mountains had long been known as a dangerous place. Merry confided as much to Frodo, who had to resist the temptation to rebel at the thought of having to be "looked after" yet again.

As night fell the Misty Mountains began to live up to their name and a cold mist flowed down from the peaks to meet them. The cold and damp did not seem to bother the elves but Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin pulled up their hoods and drew their cloaks more closely about them. Even with the warmth of his Lorien cloak Frodo soon began shivering and the cold clammy air irritated his throat and lungs.

By the time the party set up camp, just before dawn, all the hobbits were cold and hungry and Frodo was finding it more and more difficult not to cough. As soon as they dismounted elves appeared with blankets for each and a small flask of miruvor. After only a couple of mouthfuls of the liqueur the others were feeling better but Frodo still shivered and his chest was beginning to hurt.

Elrond resisted the temptation to attend to Frodo straight away. He sensed a reluctance to be fussed over and tried to give him some space to acknowledge that he needed aid. The little hobbit said nothing however and the twins confided in their father that his cough appeared to be growing worse. 

Elrond wished that they were in Rivendell, where at least there he could control the mists that rolled down from the peaks and could have spared Frodo that discomfort. After watching the hobbit at supper, Elrond could hold back no longer.

At supper Frodo ate little and left for his bed as soon as the meal was ended. He had hardly settled into his blankets when he heard Lord Elrond's voice at the entrance to his tent. 

"Master Frodo, may I enter?"

Frodo sat up again, pulling one of the blankets about his shoulders. "Yes, Lord Elrond."

The tent flap opened and the elf slipped in on silent feet. "You did not appear to be hungry today. Are you feeling unwell again?"

"I'm just tired. It's nothing. I was not feeling very hungry, that's all." He was quite capable of dealing with a simple cough if everyone would just leave him alone to get some sleep. Lord Elrond would not be put off, however.

"I heard you coughing earlier. Is your chest bothering you?"

Bother these elves with their sensitive hearing. "It is just the damp night air. It is better now that I am in bed . . . . nothing that a little sleep won't cure." Frodo could feel the cough threatening and favoured the elf with a look, which he hoped said, 'back off'. 

Elrond recognised it at once. Determination and strong will had got Frodo through his trials and the healer realised that to push any harder would have the opposite effect to that which he wished to achieve. Perhaps he could find other ways to bring healing.

"As you wish, Master Frodo." Elrond's face betrayed nothing and he left without further comment. As soon as he left Frodo collapsed, burying his head in the pillows to muffle the cough that finally overtook him.

Sam gently shook him awake at midday. "Time for breakfast, Mr Frodo." His voice adopted a tone of concern when he saw his master's pale face and bleary eyes. "Are you feeling alright, sir?"

Frodo pushed himself upright, a little surprised at how much energy it took to do so. "Yes Sam. There's no need to fuss over me all the time," he replied testily ending in a small, dry bark of a cough. 

Sam frowned but Frodo did not notice, too intent was he in forcing the cough into submission. Seeing that his master had regained control Sam offered a plate of scrambled eggs with a little toast and a cup of camomile tea.

Accepting them silently, Frodo took a bite of the eggs. There was a strange back taste to them. It was not unpleasant but he could not place it.

"Whatever did you put in these eggs, Sam?"

The younger hobbit blushed. "Beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo, sir. But I told Master Elrond that you weren't well."

"Sam?" Frodo let out a small exasperated sigh.

"I've been lying awake listening to you breathing and it don't sound right. If you'll excuse me saying so, sir . . . I think your more poorly than you're lettin' on and I told Master Elrond so. He gave me some powder to mix in the eggs." Still blushing furiously, he stood his ground.

Frodo put the plate down a little more firmly than he had intended, scattering toast in the grass. "If I need help, Samwise Gamgee, you will be the first person I ask. And I would not expect you, of all people, to be drugging me without permission." He subsided into more coughing but when Sam moved to support him he waved him, irritatedly, away.

The younger hobbit gathered up the toast and eggs and left.

When he had regained mastery of his breathing Frodo found that his throat was very dry and sore. He eyed the tea, the smell of honeyed toffee floating on the steam, and decided against it, determining to find some fresh water when he got up. 

Standing up took even more energy than sitting up but managed to put his jacket and cloak on and walk slowly but steadily to the entrance. As soon as he stepped outside though, he staggered as the brilliant noonday sun struck his eyes with an almost physical force. Squinting against a suddenly kindled headache, he waited until the pounding had subsided before letting go the hastily grabbed tent pole and heading off to find water.

At a stream not far from camp he drank his fill. The water was icy cold, numbing his throat and cooling him a little and after it he settled back against a tree trunk. He had not intended to sleep but he must have nodded off for when he next grew aware of his surroundings the sun was setting and he was beginning to shiver, despite feeling quite hot. 

It was as they were making the final preparations to break camp that a breathless Sam sought out Elrond. 

"Beggin' your pardon, sir. I don't want to trouble you, but Mr Frodo ain't been seen for some time and I'm worried."

"I know, Samwise. When he did not arrive for lunch I put it down to stubbornness but I too am growing concerned, for you said he seemed to have the beginning of a fever." He touched Sam on the shoulder. "Leave it to me. I will send some of my people to search."

"I'll help," announced Sam.

Elrond shook his head. "I want you here when he comes back. He seems to trust you most and I want you to keep a close eye on him. I will send Master Peregrine in your stead. He would benefit for something to occupy him."

Pippin shook Frodo's shoulder, none too gently. 

"Come on, sleepyhead. Whatever are you doing here? We've all been looking for you."

As Frodo gathered his wits Pippin paused and took a good look at him. "You know, you don't look well, Frodo. Should I fetch Gandalf?"

"No!" Frodo snapped. Then he pulled himself together a little. Waking up was never a good time for him and this wretched cough was making him feel even worse. "I'll be fine in a minute." He took another drink from the stream and then followed Pippin back to the camp, realising that they would be packing up to leave. 

As they approached the edge of the clearing Frodo noticed that all the tents had indeed been folded away and his pony stood saddled and waiting. Merry and Sam were already mounted and Sam held the reins of Frodo's pony while Merry held Pippins. Merry put on his best "mother hen" voice.

"Frodo, where have you been? We were all worried sick when you did not turn up for dinner."

"I'm sure you were. Doubtless Lord Elrond had a whole array of special dishes lined up just for me." Frodo snapped. He was angry with himself for falling asleep and causing everyone yet more worry and in the stunned silence that followed he kept walking towards his pony.

Pippin fell in behind him. "Actually, yes he did. I offered to eat them instead, as you obviously weren't going to, but he just had them taken away." He paused. "I thought that was rather mean of him. They looked quite delicious."

Frodo hoisted himself up onto his pony. "Pippin, I don't think you would have liked them as much as you think." And with that he kicked the poor pony sharply in the ribs and trotted off to join the rest of the travellers.

As Frodo and Pippin emerged from the trees Elrond called his sons to him.

"Take up position behind the hobbits once more and pay particular attention to Frodo. I am worried that he may collapse."

"Yes, Ada. We will stay close," Elladan assured his father.

Elrond stayed him swiftly. "Not too close. He has had much forced upon him in this past year. Let him find his own path."

The twins nodded and turned their horses.

At the head of the train Frodo watched the exchange, although he could not hear their words. He continued to watch as the twins trotted their horses back down the line and fell in behind the hobbits once more. He drew up his hood so that they could not see his face.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

As it had the night before, a cold damp mist closed in around them and with each passing hour Frodo found it more and more difficult not to cough as the damp air seemed to scratch and tear at the lining of his lungs.

On at least one occasion he straightened from a bought of dry painful hacking to find Sam and his other friends watching with some concern. Frodo merely returned their looks with a level gaze. He was quite capable of getting through this without having to run to someone for help. It would pass as soon as they got out of these awful mountains.

After several hours of steady riding Elrond called a rest halt for the animals but Frodo stayed on his pony for as long as possible, afraid that if he got down his legs would give way. He felt wearier than he had for months and the very thought of moving was almost beyond him. Although no one approached him directly, Frodo was very much aware of several sets of eyes upon him and he concentrated on staring straight ahead as he waited for the call to resume the journey.

He had not realised that he had drowsed until he sensed movement and looked up. Elrohir was leading his pony by the bridle and Elladan walked at Frodo's side, a hand on his back to steady him in the saddle. Frodo sighed but was too tired to protest. A little distance from the bustle of the main party, Elladan helped him down but when he set his feet on the ground Frodo's legs crumpled and the elf had to catch him up and carry him to a quiet spot where he laid him down on a blanket.

"Shall I fetch my father?" asked the twin.

Frodo shook his head. "Be alright . . . just need . . . few minutes."

Elladan looked as though he was going to protest but Elrohir stayed him and he just nodded and left. Sam came to sit by his side and Frodo closed his eyes again for a moment.

When he awoke next Sam was not around and Frodo felt very thirsty. His chest hurt, his throat was swollen and dry and his body felt as though it were on fire. Dragging himself to his feet, he left in search of water, his eyes refusing to focus properly. In his difficulty he did not notice Gandalf's keen gaze following him.

The wizard found Elrond swiftly. "Elrond . . . Frodo is unwell."

The elf looked up from his saddlebag. "I know. There is congestion in his lungs but he will not let me tend him. I suspect, however, that the choice will be taken from him shortly. Samwise will report to me in a moment." He pulled a small bottle from his bag, just as Sam ran up.

"Mr Gandalf, Master Elrond . . . He's gone" he gasped out, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Elrond reached out, laying a hand upon Sam's back. "Take a deep breath and then tell me what has happened." His calm voice and the touch settled the hobbit and Sam tried again.

"He seemed to be asleep so I thought it would be alright to fetch him some water. But when I came back he'd gone. Where could he have gone? He was too poorly."

"I saw him leave. Follow me, Sam." Gandalf gathered up his staff and strode off in the direction Frodo had taken. 

Elrond summoned the twins and began to make preparations.

Frodo headed away from the camp and into the surrounding woods. This low in the foothills the slopes were still relatively thickly wooded and the air was fresh and redolent of evergreens and loam. Frodo made the mistake of trying to inhale the fragrance too deeply.

He was rewarded by a bout of coughing that triggered an alarmingly sharp pain in his side, forcing him to his hands and knees and it was thus that Sam and Gandalf found him.

When the pain and coughing subsided, leaving him gasping and dizzy, Frodo found a strong arm supporting him across the front of his shoulders and a large hand gently rubbing his back. When he settled back on his heels an arm drew him up and back until he was sitting in Gandalf's lap, his back supported against the wizard's warm chest. Sam took his masters hands, rubbing them gently and brushing off the pine needles stuck to his palms.

Concentrating on pulling in air without coughing and forcing away the pain in his side, Frodo heard the familiar gruff voice in his ear.

"Was there ever a more stubborn hobbit than Frodo Baggins, I wonder."

"I am … not stubborn…. I … am just fed…. up of …everyone …making my … business …their own." Frodo managed to gasp out.

"They are concerned for you. That is all. And with good reason from the look of things."

Frodo merely closed his eyes and leaned into Gandalf's strength, too weak to argue further. Gandalf gathered him up and carried him back to the rest of the party and Frodo hid his face in the old wizard's shoulder.

Elrond was waiting patiently and it was he and Sam who tucked Frodo into several layers of blankets. Cushions were arranged to support him in semi-reclining position, which made it easier to breathe and Frodo had to admit to himself that it felt better to be lying down.

The elven lord knelt at his side. "Drink this, Frodo. It will help to ease your breathing."

The hobbit shook his head. "Can't . . . throat hurts." Was all he could manage to croak. His throat was swollen and he could hardly muster the strength to swallow.

The healer put the cup to Frodo's lips, nonetheless, and trickled a little of the liquid into his mouth. Cool fingers touched his throat, the gentlest of feather light strokes and Frodo found his throat swallowing once . . . twice . . . three times. Elrond stood and Sam took his place, dabbing at his master's sweat drenched brow with a cool damp cloth. Frodo closed his eyes and drifted away.

He was being carried. Frodo tried to open his eyes and was met with a dizzying swirl of movement that made him squeeze them shut again. There was a sudden upward surge that made him feel sick and then he was settled in someone's lap, held secure by a strong arm, his cheek resting against a warm, velvet clad chest. Once more he tried to open his eyes, squinting against the bright silver light of Ithil. The mist had dissipated and he found that he was very high up, higher than he had been when sitting his pony and he realised that he was on a large grey horse. The arm holding the reigns before him was also clad in grey and Frodo realised, with a sinking heart that he was held by the Lord of Imladris.

From above his head the soft music of Elrond's voice drifted to his ears. "We have a little longer to travel tonight and then we will rest so that you can recover. Sleep, Little One." The very words seemed to command his body and Frodo sank into oblivion once more.

A jostling aroused him and Frodo gasped at a sharp pain across the knuckles of his left hand. His eyes flew open to find a confused pre dawn world of movement and shouting. Black fletched arrows fell about him and his carer's hand no longer held reins but a long bright sword. Looking down he found a shallow gash across the back of his hand and an arrow had embedded itself in the saddle pommel at his side.

Elrond's horse and the hobbit's ponies were at the centre of a ring of elven defenders and in the trees beyond Frodo could dimly see and hear orcs. He shrank down, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. Obviously, word of the Dark Lord's downfall had little effect upon his minions as yet and there had been no chance to purge the mountains of their evil presence. 

The elves were giving a good account of themselves and no orcs actually broke through the defensive circle, although black shafts still rained down. Frodo flinched and he felt Lord Elrond's muscles tense as he moved with lightning speed to deflect, with the blade of his sword, a bolt that would have skewered Frodo's chest. 

Suddenly, Gandalf's voice called loud and clear over the surrounding din. "Ware!" A brilliant flash of light accompanied the call and all closed their eyes in defence. An assortment of wild screams could be heard from their enemies, followed by the crashing sound of their stumbling retreat to the shadows.

Frodo peeked out from the protection of Elrond's cloak and found elves and hobbits doing likewise. No more arrows came their way and one brave bird heralded the arrival of dawn as the sky began to brighten behind them. To his right, Gandalf sat upon Shadowfax, the fading glow of his staff echoed in his deeply shadowed eyes and Frodo blinked in awe as he saw Gandalf the White sitting majestic and proud, cloaked in his power.

A rising cough burst from Frodo, accompanied by the searing pain in his side and, if he had the breath to spare, he would have cried out with the intensity of it. Gentle arms supported him and, when it faded to the point that he was aware of other sensory input, he felt a hand rubbing his back and heard soft words of comfort in his ear. He sank bonelessly against Elrond's chest and the elf supported him there, placing a small flask to his lips and tilting it to let a few drops of liquid trickle into Frodo's mouth. The miruvor moistened his dry throat and, for a moment, the world drew back into focus. The hobbit closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift, only vaguely aware of a conversation going on around him.

Gandalf moved Shadowfax closer to Elrond's horse, watching as the healer soothed Bilbo's nephew. "He should be kept still and resting. We need to make camp for a few days until he is recovered," he suggested. His voice was gruff with concern.

Elrond shook his head and continued to fold his cloak more closely about his charge. "We dare not tarry here. That was only a small party of orcs. Now that they have our measure they will be back in greater numbers with the next sunset." Elrond's tone was firm, one of the few people in Middle Earth who would have dared stand up to the wizard.

"Surely, without rest and warmth we are putting his life at risk?" the wizard countered. 

"I know what I am doing, Mithrandir." Elrond's used Gandalf's old, comfortable elven name. . "As long as he is kept warm and allowed to rest for at least a part of the day I can sustain him until we reach Imladris. If we camp here for any length of time we put his life and everyone else's in danger."

"I bow to your greater knowledge in healing, Elrond, but I beg you to remember that you carry a very precious charge." 

Elrond bridled, well aware of what he held in his hands. He drew breath to reply but thought better of it, acknowledging that Gandalf was worried for his friend. 

Elrond gave a gentle mental nudge and Frodo dipped back down into pleasant dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

He was lying on the ground, his upper body supported against something, with Lord Elrond sitting beside him. Tree branches had been cleverly woven above them to cut down the glare of the midday sun and Frodo was wrapped closely in several blankets. Even so, he shivered slightly, and was glad of the warmth of the drink he was being patiently fed. It was a light tea, smelling of honeyed toffee again. Frodo wondered where Lord Elrond got that wonderful honey.

He tried to speak. "Tired." Even that little effort made him breathless and Elrond paused in his feeding to allow his patient to recover.

"You are quite ill, Frodo. That will make you feel very weary. But I have also been giving you teas to make you drowsy." When he saw the beginning of protest in Frodo's eyes he raised one eyebrow in censure. "You are so ill that you should be resting quietly for several days, not riding across mountain passes. But the orc attack has meant that we cannot camp for any length of time. We will continue to rest during the daylight hours and travel at night. That way, if they attack again, we will at least have the option of running." 

As he spoke, Elrond continued to feed Frodo tiny sips of tea, watching carefully to ensure that they were swallowed. His free hand brushed the little hobbit's hair back from his brow and his touch seemed to bring comfort. "I am afraid I am going to be giving you lots of teas and medicines for the next few days. I need to bring down your temperature and clear your chest and you must also sleep. Please do not fight me on the matter."

Frodo doubted that he had the energy to put up any kind of a fight for he could no longer deny the truth of Lord Elrond's words. He was very ill and no amount of anger or stubbornness would make him better now.

As if to test his request the healer poured a little syrup onto a spoon and touched it lightly to Frodo's mouth. The hobbit parted dry lips obediently and the spoon was slipped between them. The medicine was not particularly pleasant but Frodo had to admit that Bilbo had fed him worse as a tweenager and he did not resist when another spoonful was offered.

A shadow fell across them and tall forms suddenly surrounded the two. Elladan, Elrohir and Gandalf stood casually about them, their robes and bodies effectively screening them from the rest of the camp.

Elrond sent out a silent "Thank you," to them and settled down into Vilya's cool depths. He laid a gentle hand upon Frodo's cheek and tilted the little hobbit's face until the fever bright, blue eyes looked up into his.

Frodo looked up at Elrond in query and found himself snared by the elf's sharp gaze. He felt like a cony caught in a sudden light and he could not tear his eyes away, and although he could not see the ring of air he knew it was being used. A warm, soft breeze fanned his forehead and he could feel a new strength in his leaden limbs. He took in a tentative breath and encountered the taste of wine and a scent of spring flowers that did not sear his lungs, although he was wary not to breathe too deeply.

Elrond broke his gaze and leaned back and the trio drifted away without a backward glance. Frodo yawned, feeling suddenly very drowsy once more and the healer turned and beckoned to Sam, who scurried over with a basin and wrung out a cloth, draping its cool dampness on his master's brow as Elrond stood to leave. The elf smiled down at him.

"Sleep well, Frodo."

Another yawn and the hobbit felt his eyelids becoming heavy once more. He let them slide shut, still trying to work out whether it was the medicine or Lord Elrond's command that made him sink back into a sleep that was dreamless this time.

"Do not rouse yourself, Little One." Elrond's smooth, lilting voice drifted into his dreams. Despite the instruction, Frodo forced his eyes open as he felt his mouth filled with sweet syrup and he swallowed as he tried to blink the world back into focus.

He was staring up into the elven lord's ageless features, framed by a grey sky. A light rain bespangled the long dark hair but Frodo was held, warm and dry, in the shadow of his protector's cloak.

He tried to sit up but the action brought on a deep sticky cough that filled his mouth with unpleasant tasting phlegm. Elrond immediately put a cloth to his patient's mouth. "Spit, Frodo." He did as he was commanded, glad to get rid of the foul stuff. The action was rewarded with a small sip of cool water to clear the taste and then another spoonful of syrup. Elven eyes became silvered, tinged with blue, and Frodo sensed more energy being poured into him via Vilya before sleep claimed him again.

Time lost all meaning to him. He was awakened for food, usually thin warm broths and sometimes he was aware of swallowing syrups. Occasionally he woke to a fit of violent coughing but as soon as it was over he would tumble back down into darkness once more. Familiar faces wove in and out of dream and reality; Sam, Elrond, Gandalf, Merry and Pippin. Sometimes their lips moved and he was aware of their voices but his mind could make no sense of the words and he simply took comfort in the familiarity of their sound. They did not seem to mind that he did not reply, their eyes full of concern and their voices gentle and soothing.

There were dreams but they were never frightening or dark. Frodo wondered a dreamscape filled with forests and high white waterfalls, starlight and soft breezes. Sometimes it was Imladris and at other times it was Lothlorien but always it was peaceful and calming. At other times he was surrounded by blue light and clean air, his consciousness spread on a thousand facetted surfaces until it grew thinner and thinner and dispersed on a feather light breath.

There was a smooth rocking motion and he was warm and comfortable. Around him beautiful voices were raised in song and his heart soared through the notes with them. Opening his eyes, Frodo found he was staring up into a star filled sky beyond Elrond's upturned face. 

Always aware of his precious charge's needs the elf looked down and smiled.

"We are almost home, Frodo. The lights of Imladris beckon in the valley below us." Silver starlit eyes shone with joy at the thought of coming home. So much had changed but Imladris was the same…for the moment at least.

"I'd like to see it." Elrond was pleased at the strength and clarity of Frodo's voice and the small ribcage no longer struggled to gather enough breath. He considered insisting that Frodo remain recumbent but, instead, he raised the hobbit slowly until he rested against the velvet clad chest and, could see, through the canopy of trees below them, the distant twinkling lights of The Last Homely House. 

Frodo yawned. "We have got here quickly."

A chuckle alerted him to Gandalf's presence at their side. "Aye. It only took us seven days," he commented, dryly.

Frodo absorbed that bit of information silently as Elrond began to steer his horse down the narrow track into the valley. The sheer drop at his side should have been alarming to the hobbit but he felt very safe in the elf lord's arms and he merely let the scenery slip by. A thought suddenly popped into his head.

"What date is it?"

"It is the eve of September the 21st," came Gandalf's reply.

"It's Bilbo's birthday tomorrow and I shall be there, after all." Frodo smiled at the prospect of being able to wish his uncle a happy birthday.

"You will be there but in your bed, Master Frodo," announced Elrond, firmly. 

"But I must be at his birthday party," Frodo pleaded. "He will worry about me if I don't see him and I wouldn't want to spoil his birthday." 

Elrond relented a little. "When we reach the house you may let him know that you are arrived safely, but then you must go to your bed. You may feel a little better at the moment but that is only because you have rested for several days. You must not expend too much energy yet." His tone brooked no argument and Frodo sighed and settled back into the warmth of Elrond's cloak. 

"Very well. And . . . thank you, Lord Elrond, for looking after me. I am sorry that I was such a bother."

"It is my honour to care for the Ringbearer," was the elf lord's simple reply.

As they crossed the bridge and rode into the courtyard many elves ran out to greet them, surrounding the group with laughter and song and Frodo felt better just being in this friendly and comfortable place.

Elrond handed him down to Elladan's arms and the little hobbit was set carefully on his feet. Frodo swayed for a moment, his body unused to the position after so many days reclining, but he soon found his balance and, with a quick "Thank you" to both elves he and the other hobbits went to find Bilbo.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

__

With acknowledgement to Frodo Baggins of Bag End . . . who taught me everything I know about setting an invalid tray.

Frodo closed the door to Bilbo's room and leaned against the wall. Silent tears, which he had been holding in check for the past half-hour, now spilled down his cheeks and he slid to the floor, drawing up his knees and wrapping his hands about his ankles. Thus it was that Elrohir found him a few minutes later.

"Are you feeling unwell, Frodo?" He knelt down and touched a hand to Frodo's brow. "Father sent me to remind you to go to your bed."

"I'm sorry, Elrohir." Frodo sniffed and brushed his sleeve across his face. "I'm being silly. Yes. I am rather tired. Tell him I'm on my way to bed now." He accepted Elrohir's hand to help him up and headed back down the hall to his own room. Once safely inside, however, he started crying again and, climbing onto the over-large bed he fell asleep sobbing into his pillow.

He was being moved . . . someone was tugging gently at his coat sleeve and unbuttoning his weskit. Frodo opened his eyes as Elrond lifted him to pull the weskit off and laid him back onto the pillows.

"Do you want to do the rest of it yourself?" The elf stood back and pointed to a clean nightshirt draped at the foot of the bed.

Pinking a bit at the thought that such a mighty lord should have to undress him, Frodo sat up and began pulling at the buttons of his shirt. "I'm sure I can manage. I didn't know you were here. I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

To save him further embarrassment, Elrond turned his back and crossed to the hearth to prod the logs in the grate to life. Then he moved to a small table by the wall and began to sort through his herbal. Frodo had not noticed the box when he entered the room earlier, but then he had not noticed much of anything and he swallowed back more threatening tears as he finished changing. The healer returned to his bed with a small cup, just as Frodo was fastening the last button on his nightshirt.

Setting the cup on the bedside table, the elf helped Frodo under the covers and plumped up the pillows so that he was sitting up. Once he was settled he offered the cup.

"Drink it all, please. It will help you sleep."

Frodo sipped and found that it was camomile tea, laced with the rich honey that he had come to associate with Lord Elrond's teas.

"Where do you get this honey from? I have never tasted anything like it." He felt a little embarrassed that Lord Elrond would care for him personally and tried to draw the conversation to a safe topic.

Elrond complied, for a moment.

"It comes from Lothlorien. From the flowers of the Mallorn trees."

Elrond pushed aside the distraction and smiled as he pulled up a chair to the bedside. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His patient blinked. "Talk about what?"

"Talk about why you were found sobbing on the floor outside Bilbo's room and why you just cried yourself to sleep?" There was no note of censure in Elrond's voice and his face showed only concern.

Frodo tried to take a deep breath and broke into a fit of coughing. Elrond waited patiently, wiping Frodo's face with a cool damp cloth when it subsided.

"It's . . . " Frodo found his bottom lip beginning to quiver and tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He clamped his jaw shut and swallowed, then tried again. "It's Bilbo."

He looked into Elrond's face, pleadingly. "He's always been there for me and I had hoped . . . but he has aged so. He doesn't seem to understand." He broke off as tears began to track down his face again.

The elf reached into his pocket and offered a clean white hanky, which Frodo accepted and wiped at his eyes. "You probably think I'm very silly. It's just that, for most of my life he has been my anchor. He was the only parent I really knew, as well as a friend."

Elrond merely nodded. "Go on."

Frodo began to feel more comfortable and settled back as his body relaxed, sipping the warm fragrant tea. The elf's presence was calming and he felt that he could open his heart. For his part, Elrond watched as the sedative began to take hold on the tiny, worn out soul.

"I wanted to share with him . . . to tell him . . . what happened . . . what it was like . . . how much it hurt." He wiped away a fresh stream of tears. "But I don't think he even understands . . . where I went . . . or why." Frodo snuggled down into the covers a little. The fire was warming the room and the bed was soft and inviting to his aching body.

Elrond's voice was gentle and comforting. "It is the way of mortals. As they reach the end of their span on this earth they begin to fade. Possession of the Ring has given him a longer span than is usual but once it left, all those years caught up with him." 

His eyelids were heavy and Frodo decided to rest them for a moment. Elrond said nothing as they fluttered closed, the dark lashes settling on flushed cheeks. When the hobbit spoke next his words were hardly more than a whisper.

"But, who can I talk to, now?"

Elrond snagged the tilting cup from Frodo's fingers and pulled up the covers, tucking them under the little one's chin. The tiny form turned on to his side and curled into a ball, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he sank into fretful sleep.

He was too hot but something cool and damp was dabbing at his face and neck. Frodo forced open sticky eyes and struggled to sit up, collapsing as soon as he started to cough. Hands lifted him up and supported him until the deep hacking stopped, then leaned him back against extra pillows. With a great act of will Frodo managed to bring the world into focus and found Sam perched on his bedside, holding a cloth in his hand.

"I'm sorry, Mr Frodo. I didn't mean to wake you, but you looked a mite flushed," Sam apologised.

"It's alright, Sam. What time is it?" Frodo leaned back gratefully into the soft pillows, glancing out of the long windows at the grey, rainsoaked world, outside.

"It's about ten o'clock, sir. Happy birthday."

Frodo blinked and smiled. "Oh my. I had forgotten." His face fell. "And I have no presents for anyone."

"Having you back and here safe is enough present for us," came Merry's voice from the doorway. He entered, carrying a covered tray and followed by Pippin. The knight of Gondor set a small table at Frodo's bedside and Merry placed the tray upon it.

"Complements of Lord Elrond. With instructions that you are to "eat as much of it as you can manage and stay in bed"," announced Merry in a passable imitation of Elrond's sternest voice. All four hobbits burst into fits of giggles, although Frodo's deteriorated into another bought of coughing.

Sam pulled aside the cover on the tray and all four stared at the contents. All the dishes were small but there were so many of them . . . each designed to tempt a flagging appetite.

Tiny points of toast were arranged on a small plate surrounding a cup of light chicken broth, redolent with herbs. A dish of softly scrambled eggs sat next to a bowl of creamy oatmeal, dressed with a large swirl of honey. Two soft bread rolls, still warm from the oven, shared a plate with a tiny dish of strawberry conserve and a pat of golden butter. A large spoonful of creamed mushrooms sat upon a slice of toast and a bowl of applesauce was mixed with soaked plump raisins. A little bunch of pale green grapes nestled on another plate with some slices of purple skinned amber fleshed plum. A tumbler of warm milk was sprinkled with nutmeg and honeyed steam curled lazily from a large cup of camomile tea.

Merry grabbed Pippin's hand as it hovered over a bread roll. "Oh no you don't, Pippin, my lad. Our breakfast waits down the hall. Let's leave our cousin to eat in peace." With that he steered Pippin towards the door. 

Pippin turned and winked as he left. "Happy birthday, Frodo."

Sam sat down in the chair occupied by Elrond the night before. "Do you need help with anything, Mr Frodo?"

Frodo stretched to pick up a spoon and paused. "Well, if you don't mind putting the tray on my lap . . . I don't think I can reach everything from here."

Jumping to oblige, Sam placed the tray on his master's lap.

"Thank you." Frodo dipped his spoon into the pale yellow eggs and took a bite. They tasted as good as they looked.

Sam was setting the tray aside when Elrond arrived and the elf surveyed the contents with pursed lips. Although Frodo had tasted everything there the only dishes he had finished were the oatmeal and the eggs, although both tea and milk had been drunk. Making no comment, Elrond stepped to the bedside.

Practised fingers found a pulse at Frodo's wrist and a cool hand was laid on the hobbit's brow. Leaning down Elrond set his ear to his patient's chest for a moment. When he straightened, Frodo looked hopefully into his face.

"Sam says that a birthday party has been arranged for Bilbo this afternoon. I should very much like to attend."

The healer shook his head. "You are stilling running a fever and your lungs are not yet clear. You could not manage more than a few minutes out of bed without suffering a relapse."

"Surely, if I just sat down. I wouldn't have to do anything strenuous. There may not . . .there may not be . . . many more."

"I am sorry, Little One. But it is not possible." His face showed a genuine sadness. "Perhaps I will be able to arrange for him to visit you a little later," Elrond offered, handing over a small cup containing a dose of syrup.

"That would be nice. Thank you," he replied, dejectedly. The syrup was accepted and swallowed without further protest and Frodo settled down and closed his eyes, waiting for the sedative to begin its work.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

The afternoon light was no brighter than it had been during the morning and Frodo lay quietly staring at the weather. Gusts of wind sent smatterings of autumn leaves and rain pattering against the windowpanes and he watched rain drops slide down the glass. Sam was not around and he took that to mean that Bilbo's party had begun.

It was to be a quiet affair, just the hobbits and Gandalf for the ancient gentle-hobbit was not up to much noise and fuss. Frodo imagined the scene in his uncle's room with all of them sitting around the tea table. He fancied he could see the firelit faces and hear the merry laughter and chatter.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back. His chest didn't really hurt that much now and, although he still felt weak and a little overwarm, he had felt much worse. This was no worse than the influenza he had nursed himself through a couple of winters ago. Surely if he did not stay too long, it would be all right to attend the party? True, he didn't feel much like eating but he did want to celebrate his uncle's birthday . . . both their birthdays. It was a sad but true fact that there may not be many more of them and he had missed so many pleasures over the last year.

Frodo sat up slowly and pushed back the covers. It was a long way down to the floor from the elven sized bed but he made it, shuddering a little when his feet came into contact with the cold polished wood. Slowly and carefully he crossed to the wardrobe and retrieved his clothes, dressed as quickly as he was able and headed for the door.

The hallway was mercifully empty and Bilbo's room was only a few doors further along. It seemed however, that the hallway grew longer as he walked down it and halfway to the room he had to pause as a cough gathered and held him for a few minutes but, using the wall to steady himself, he finally made it. From the other side of the closed door he could hear Pippin's bright laughter and the murmur of conversation.

Frodo pushed himself away from the wall, ran fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it, tugged at his weskit and put on his brightest smile as he opened the door.

"Happy birthday, Bilbo!"

For a few seconds there was a stunned silence as his friends took in his presence. Bilbo was blissfully unaware of the pause however, as he looked up from his armchair by the fire and smiled. 

"Frodo, my lad. How lovely it is to see you. They said you would not be coming." He indicated a table by the window. "I'm afraid we ate without you but perhaps Pippin has left something."

Frodo crossed the room to the fireplace, using a casual hand on nearby furniture to steady himself for, despite his earlier confidence; he was now finding it a little difficult not to sway and had to lock each knee as he took a step. Although Bilbo seemed blithely unaware of this Frodo knew that the others watched his progress closely and Merry almost leapt out of his chair by the fire to make room for his cousin.

As he sank gratefully into it Frodo tried a small laugh. "That's alright, Bilbo dear. I ate something earlier. I'm not really that hungry." He caught Sam's questioning look and returned it levelly. It was not a lie. He had eaten breakfast and he was definitely not hungry, although even if he had been he was not sure his legs would have carried him to the table.

Bilbo peered at him through dimming eyes. "Nonsense. No such thing as a hobbit who isn't hungry. You're as thin as a fence post, lad. Whatever have you been doing with yourself?"

Trying once more to discuss the journey of the past year Frodo replied, "I went to Mordor, Bilbo. Don't you remember me telling you? To destroy the ring."

The white haired hobbit shook his head dazedly. "Whatever would you want to do that for? That ring was very useful. I remember one day when I was out for a walk . . ." Bilbo launched into a tale he had told them a hundred times before and they all dutifully ooooh'd and laughed in the appropriate places. 

The others, including Gandalf, had only half their attention on Bilbo however, for their eyes kept flickering to Frodo, where he sat pale and sweating. Half way through the tale Gandalf poured some apple juice and handed the glass to Sam, who brought it to his master. Frodo accepted it thankfully; sipping its cool freshness and fighting to push down a cough that threatened to overtake him.

As Bilbo reached the end of the tale his head began to nod and he subsided into gentle snores and as soon as he heard the second one Merry rounded angrily on his cousin.

"What do you think you're doing, Frodo? Lord Elrond told you to stay in bed. I know, because I was the one he chose to pass the instruction through," he hissed in a loud stage whisper.

"I am alright, Merry. I'm just going to sit here. What's the difference between sitting here and sitting in my bed?"

"There is a big difference, as well you know," Gandalf murmured. "I suppose you just floated here on a cloud? Or did you, perhaps, walk the length of the hall?"

His uncle rescued Frodo. "Now, where were we?" came his drowsy voice, from across the fire. His eyes lit on his nephew. "Frodo, my boy. You made it to my party. Happy birthday to you."

Frodo lifted his glass in a toast and took a sip. "And a happy birthday to you, Bilbo dear." His hand shook a little and he wished he had not chosen to sit so close to the fire for his shirt was stuck to his back with perspiration and little droplets were rolling down his face from his hair.

His uncle squinted at him in the fading afternoon light. "You look a little peaked. You don't eat enough, you know. You're as thin as a fence post." He seemed unaware of the fact that he had had made the same observation only a few minutes before.

Frodo blinked, as Bilbo's face seemed to recede and then advance. He tried another swallow of the cool apple juice and attempted to concentrate on what was going on around him. Merry was saying something to Bilbo and Sam was standing at Frodo's shoulder, rescuing his master's glass as it tilted dangerously and threatened to spill the remains of its contents.

"Are you alright, lad?" Bilbo's voice held a note of concern and his nephew realised that he could keep up the pretence no longer.

"Actually, I am a little tired. Perhaps I will go and lie down for a while." He made to rise but his legs lacked the strength to push him all the way up and Sam had to put a hand under his elbow to help and hold him there.

Gandalf made a big show of yawning and stretching as he also walked towards Frodo. "Well, I have had a wearying time too, looking out for all these young ones. I shall walk with you as far as your door, Frodo, and then retire myself. Good day to you, Bilbo." With that he laid a hand upon Frodo's back and steered him gently towards the door, adding his surreptitious support to Sam's and placing his long robed body between Frodo and Bilbo's eyes.

"Well, bless me," declared Bilbo as the door closed. "And I thought I was the one who was always sleepy."

Elrond slipped quietly into the room and crossed to the large bed. Sam had left for the party some time ago but the elven healer knew that the sedative he had administered would be effective for some time. He had reckoned without Frodo's stubborn determination, however and before he had taken a few steps he realised that the bed was empty. I took him no time to guess where his patient had gone and he hurried from the room and turned towards Bilbo's chamber.

A little way down the hallway he spied the trio. Elven eyesight saw Frodo's difficulty easily and the healer began to hurry, suspecting that the little hobbit would not hold up much longer.

Words floated back and forth in Frodo's mind but he could not wring any meaning from them. The hall was longer than he remembered and the light was fading. Ahead, Lord Elrond stepped out of Frodo's room and began to hurry towards them.

A wave of heat washed through Frodo and he staggered as his knees finally folded. Trying to call out to Gandalf for help, he was assailed by a fit of coughing that robbed him of what little consciousness was left and he tumbled down into the fiery depths of Mount Doom.


	8. chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Cold. Frodo was so cold that he couldn't stop shivering. There were soft voices around him and the sounds of people moving about but the main focus of his limited awareness was the cold. 

For a moment the chill grew worse and he whimpered in protest, too weak to do more. Then there was a small area of heat at his left side, another at his feet and more at his right side. A soft weight was draped over him and the chill lessened. Someone was talking to him but Frodo was having difficulty focussing on the words until there was a feather soft touch across his upper lip, something cool smeared there, and the fresh scent of mint filled his nostrils, clearing his head a little. The voices began to make sense.

Elrond wiped his finger on a towel and replaced the stopper in the tiny vial of oil in his hand, setting it aside on the table. At his side Sam was tucking in the bedcovers again, after slipping the last hot water bottle in place.

"Thank you, Sam. Can you fetch a couple more hot water bottles and tell them to keep more ready as these cool?"

"Yes, sir. Right away." Sam left; the sound of his bare feet slapping on wooden flooring.

"I think he is awake." Came the warm rumble of Gandalf's voice from the other side of the bed and Elrond looked down again as Frodo began to stir.

"Frodo? Open your eyes, if you can, Little One," the healer instructed, his voice gentle. The little hobbit struggled to comply and succeeded after a few moments, his blue eyes blinking as he tried to bring the world into focus.

Frodo found himself propped up in his bed and dusk had turned to night. The soothing yellow light of candle's bathed the room, along with the flicker of firelight and the air was filled with a familiar scent. He followed the smell and turned his head, to find a large bowl, steaming above a brazier, near his bed. His mind put a name to it at last. Athelas.

A warm hand touched his brow and Frodo followed the grey clad arm up to a shoulder and then a face, surrounded by dark hair. The candle light reflected in Elrond's eyes, turning grey to gold. The hand slipped from his brow to beneath his head and he was lifted a little as a spoon was rubbed gently against his lips.

"Try to swallow this, Frodo."

Frodo tried to clench his lips shut but a finger pressed gently on his chin, opening his mouth to allow passage for a spoon. Frodo recognised the sweet taste of the sedative and tried to spit it out. He didn't want to sleep, to run away. Succeeding in forcing most of it back out, he saw the elf's expression grow concerned and felt a damp cloth wiping his chin.

Somewhere outside his limited line of vision he heard Gandalf's voice. "What happened?"

Frodo tried to answer but his throat was dry and swollen and he lacked the breath.

"He is fighting me." Elrond's looked down at him. "You must sleep, Little One. We will talk when you have recovered a little, I promise."

Again came the gentle pressure on his chin and the sweet syrup in his mouth. Frodo forced a weak swallow, then another and the liquid slid smoothly down his throat. Closing his eyes, he waited for it to carry him down into sleep, his last conscious impression one of a cool damp cloth draped across his forehead and Elrond's soft voice murmuring something in elven.

He was still too warm but his body no longer shivered and ached. When Frodo tried to move slightly, though, he winced as the tightness in his chest threatened a cough. Lying still, he swallowed, becoming aware of perspiration sticking his nightshirt to his skin and a deep leaden feel to his limbs. Somewhere to his left he could hear the crack and settle of a fire in the hearth and shadows danced on the intricately carved beams of the ceiling above him.

A grey velvet clad arm crossed his line of sight and Frodo felt a damp cloth being lifted from his brow. There was the sound of water swishing and then the hand returned and the now deliciously cool cloth, was replaced on his burning skin.

Something was rubbed against his lips. "Try to drink this, Frodo."

Elrond's lilting voice drifted into his ears and Frodo managed to part his lips a little. A few drops of warm liquid were trickled in and Frodo held them there for a moment as he gathered the energy to swallow. It was ginger tea; it's warm crisp taste soothing the parched tissues of his mouth. Even as he tried to swallow a whisper of a touch at his throat helped him and he managed to down it more easily than he had anticipated. For some time Frodo's world revolved about swallowing as more spoonfuls were coaxed into him until, finally satisfied, the healer allowed him to rest again. The hobbit drowsed, drifting in and out of vague dreams of fire and ash.

"There now, Mr Frodo. Just a drop of medicine . . . See if you can swallow it for your Sam. It'll help with that nasty cough."

Frodo choked a little as a bitter tasting liquid filled his mouth but he managed to swallow, glad to be rid of it.

"One more, sir. Then you can go back to sleep." More of the bitter concoction, which he forced down, then a sip of cool water as reward. He slept again.

Dragging open leaden eyelids, Frodo found the ceiling bathed in the grey light of an overcast autumn day. He rolled his head to one side to see if he was alone and found Sam sitting at his bedside. He looked concerned.

Despite being draped in only the lightest of down filled quilts, Frodo found the weight upon him too much and he was too hot. With weak, swimming, movements he tried to push them back but as soon as he started to make some headway Sam tugged them back again.

"No, you don't. You need to keep tucked up nice and warm."

Frodo swallowed and tried to protest but he lacked the breath. "Hot."

"I know, sir. You've got a nasty touch of fever, so you've got to stay warm." Sam straightened the sheet under Frodo's chin. "Master Elrond is going to try and break it soon. You just lay quiet for a bit."

The dark-haired elf appeared behind Sam and smiled down at Frodo, kindly. He carried another quilt and for a moment Frodo worried that it was going to be added to the heap pinning him down. Elrond touched Sam on the shoulder.

"It is ready, Master Samwise." The quilt was spread at the foot of the enormous bed and Sam began to lift Frodo's covers.

"Come on, now, Mr Frodo. Let your Sam get you out of this nightshirt and then you can have the nice warm bath that Master Elrond has arranged for you and you'll begin to feel better."

As Sam removed the last of the covers Frodo began to shiver. His nightshirt was soaked with perspiration and the air on it made him feel very cold. Sam moved quickly to strip it from him and then stepped back. 

Elrond lifted the Ringbearer carefully and laid him in the centre of the quilt, swaddling him in its soft warm comfort. Then he gathered up his precious bundle and, holding him secure and close, carried Frodo to the fireside, where a small tub of fragrant water waited, its steam redolent of lavender and sandalwood.

Kneeling at the hearth, Elrond laid his burden on a rug and unwrapped him tenderly. Frodo was lifted once more and then lowered slowly into the warm water.

"You are weary, Frodo. Lie back and rest and I will tend you." Elrond's voice was one his soul remembered trustingly; a calm and strong comfort calling him back from the darkness after Weathertop.

Frodo closed his eyes and laid his head back against the towel folded over the rim of the bath as cushion. He sighed as warm water eased the shivering and the ache in his chest and gentle hands wielded soap and cloth in soothing rhythm on his body.

As the dark lashes fluttered shut over the bright blue eyes, Elrond dipped into his healing heart and began his work. Each stroke of the soaped cloth was used to pour a little healing energy into the limbs beneath his hand. As he worked his mind reviewed the Little One's journey, for it was written clear to read upon his body.

Here, on his left shoulder, was the cold white mark of the Nazgul blade, criss-crossed with other, smaller, scars where Elrond had cut to retrieve the shard that had tried to pierce Frodo's heart. He could sense something lingering there…almost a memory of pain. Perhaps Mithrandir had been right when he said that Frodo would never be fully healed of that wound. The elf sighed. He had tried everything within his power to heal the Little One of its effects but he had been only partially successful.

Tipping Frodo's head forward to wash his neck, Elrond found the, still livid, mark of Shelob's bite. And here too, there lingered something. His fingers tried to bring some healing but it was like fighting a shadow. The poison slipped away every time he looked at it, flickering always on the edge of his vision and out of reach.

Further down the back and Elrond encountered the white stripe made by Snaga's lash when the little hobbit had been held in the tower of Cirith Ungol. The quest had come so close to failing in that hour. And yet, by chance it had not. 

Chance. 

There had been too many chances in this quest and Elrond did not believe in chance.

On the ribs of his left side, both front and back, were the marks of the spear thrust incurred in Mordor; a small round white mark at the front and the darker marks of scoring on the back.

Elrond laid the tiny body back to rest upon the side of the tub once more. Lifting Frodo's right arm he ran the cloth down its length and felt the body tense as he touched the hand. It was almost is though the Little One was fighting the urge to pull it from Elrond's grasp. Firmly but tenderly, the healer held the three fingers in his own, pouring in comfort and ease and, gradually, he felt the tension fade.

The left arm felt a little cold still, and Elrond tried to bring warmth to the flesh. When he reached the hand his eyes lit upon the palm. It was criss-crossed with a fine network of scars, like the crackle in the glaze of an ancient vase. Frodo had told them that for some part of their journey up Mount Doom he had crawled on hands and knees until they had reached the path. And here was the mute testimony of that chapter of his story. Elrond supposed that the right hand held the scars too but he did not bother to check again.

Both knees held similar patterns however, and the soles of his feet were deeply scored in places, the soft fresh skin of healed burns standing contrast to the distinct lines of cuts caused by the razor sharp stones of the plain of Gorgoroth.

Almost finished, the healer moved up to gently wipe the small, pale face. It was then that Frodo opened his eyes and Elrond saw that the scars upon the hobbit's body were merely the tips of the wounding that this young soul had endured. 

The cornflower blue eyes, once merry and bright, as summer skies filled with golden sunshine, were now empty pools of clear water. Their surface held only the reflections of happiness and beneath, pain and sadness swirled about empty chasms where the destruction of the Ring had torn away huge sections of his soul.

Elrond's heart ached to think that so young a being should have undergone such torture and, for long moments, their eyes held. The elven lord sensed the Ringbearer looking into his heart, finding there his guilt for allowing Isildur to keep the Ring and his pain at having to send Frodo to destroy it. Elrond's eyes widened as, gently and quietly, there stole into his soul a soft tendril of understanding and forgiveness…then Frodo closed his eyes once more and the spell was broken. 

Frodo lay still and comfortable at last. The steam soothed his sore lungs and the warmth of the water eased the ache in his limbs. He sensed that, as Elrond bathed him, there was more than just the healing power of warm water and specially chosen oils at work. There was just a hint of the tug at his soul that he had felt after Weathertop, as though the elven lord were calling him back from shadows once more.

He was almost asleep when he was finally lifted from the womb-like tub and dried with soft warmed towels. Warm, strong smelling oil was rubbed into his chest and Frodo sighed as its action was added to that of the bath and his breathing eased even more. Then he was dressed in a warmed nightshirt and returned to his bed.

Sam had been busy and there were fresh linens, smelling of lavender and sunshine. The pillows had been fluffed and hot water bottles lay ready to push against his master's cold left side. Frodo was tucked in and fell almost immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

__

This chapter is based closely upon a role-play between Frodo Baggins of Bag End and Elwen.

Frodo took a deep breath and turned on to his side, pulling up the soft eiderdowns to cover his shoulders. It was a few moments before his waking mind realised that he was no longer propped in a sitting position and that the breath had not brought pain and coughing. He opened his eyes and blinked in the soft sunset light coming through long windows. Not Bag End then? Rivendell . . . his still sleep drowsed mind finally supplied.

"Hello there, Frodo my lad. What a commotion you have caused." 

Frodo's heart leaped. Bilbo. Turning his head slightly he found his white-haired uncle sitting in the chair at his bedside, his feet resting on a footstool. Frodo swallowed and tried a smile. 

"I didn't mean to Bilbo. I'm sorry." The words were little more than a croak and Bilbo frowned and looked over his shoulder at someone. Sam suddenly ran into Frodo's line of vision, carrying a cup. Slipping a hand beneath his master's head he placed the rim at his lips and Frodo sipped gratefully. It was apple juice, sweetened with honey and, strangely, it tasted slightly salty. He was too thirsty to complain and the cup was empty when Sam lowered him back into his pillows.

"This is what happens when you go running off on great adventures." Bilbo stated sagely. "Whatever did you think you were doing? Hobbit's are not made for long journeys, even Baggins."

Frodo sighed and managed to push himself up to lean against the headboard, waving Sam away when he tried to re-arrange the pillows. "I had to destroy the Ring, Bilbo dear. Don't you remember?" Even as he asked, Frodo knew the answer and the sadness returned.

His uncle shook his head vaguely. "Now, why would you want to do that? It was jolly useful you know. Why, I remember one day when I was out for a walk and saw Lotho . . ."

Elrond came to stand behind Bilbo's chair, bending to whisper in his ear.

"Master Bilbo. Perhaps you could tell that tale another time. I believe your nephew should rest a little longer. He has been quite ill." Elrond's voice chided gently. "I am sure Samwise will be happy to walk you back to your room. I understand that your tea has been laid out for you there." The elf nodded to Sam, who took the hint and placed a hand under Bilbo's arm to help him stand.

"Well, if you insist. I am a little peckish," the ancient hobbit replied and he allowed Sam to lead him from the room.

As soon as the door closed, Frodo let go of the silent tears he had been holding back. Elrond waited them out, handing his patient a handkerchief and arranging the pillows more comfortably against the headboard.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond. I feel so silly, crying like that," Frodo confided.

The elf lowered himself into the chair recently vacated by Bilbo, pushing the footstool to one side. From the bedside table he lifted a bowl and dipped a spoon in it, offering it to his patient. Frodo swallowed the fragrant, slightly salty, broth gratefully.

"Do you feel up to talking about it?" Elrond asked as he offered another spoon, dabbing Frodo's face with a napkin when a drop ran down his chin.

Frodo hesitated. "I . . . I'm not sure that I can."

Elrond nodded, continuing to ply his patient with spoonfuls of the broth. "If you feel that now is not the time I will not press you. Perhaps you would be more comfortable confiding in one of your friends. I can send for them if you wish?"

"No. Please. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. In truth I would rather talk to you than my friends. I love them too much to lay my problems on them." Suddenly he blushed furiously. "Oh my! That sounds awful, doesn't it? I didn't mean that I didn't care about you . . . you have been so kind . . . even when I was . . . less than gracious about it," he stammered. His apology was met with a gentle smile and a shake of Elrond's head.

"I did not take offence, Frodo. I take it as an honour that you would confide in me, if you were to talk to anyone. If you would prefer to talk later I am at your disposal."

Frodo swallowed another mouthful of broth. It seemed to strengthen him and there was something very soothing about being snuggled up in the warm comfortable bed and being fed by this gentle elf.

He had been so in awe of the tall stern elf when he had seen him first, across the banquet hall and yet it was at the end of that evening that Elrond himself had taken him to find Bilbo. To be sure, at the Council he had been every inch the mighty elf lord, but in all his dealings with Frodo and the other hobbits he had been nothing but gentle and kind. Bilbo had once described him as being "as kind as summer" and Frodo had to agree.

Dear Bilbo. He had shown so much wisdom. But now…

"It's not that . . . It's just that I don't know how to put it into words" He hung his head. "And I'm afraid it's going to sound so selfish."

By the simple act of plying him with another mouthful of broth, Elrond made him raise his head once more and Frodo found himself looking into eyes the colour of soft summer rain clouds.

"It is not my place to judge your feelings, Frodo. I will only listen and offer council if you ask it of me."

With a soft sigh of relief, Frodo tried to sort through his thoughts and lay them out in a way that would make sense.

"At first … I didn't think I would be coming back from . . . And then, when I did, I hoped . . . I wanted . . . I needed to share . . . what I had been through." He blinked back a tear and swallowed before trying to go on.

"After my parents died. There was no one to talk to for a long time. And then Bilbo came along. He took me in and he was wise and kind. He was always there to listen to my problems and help me through them." Frodo smiled weakly. "Sometimes all I wanted was for him to listen and he did . . .. Always."

When the little hobbit paused, Elrond nodded and laid a hand upon his in encouragement. Frodo took a deep breath and continued.

"There have been days, in the last few months, when the only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing Bilbo again and talking about . . . about what happened to me. I didn't expect him to do anything about it . . . I know he can't. I just wanted him to listen, as he used to. But . . . everything has changed. Even Bilbo . . ." His voice petered out and he looked into Elrond's face pleadingly.

"Yes. Little One. Everything has changed and that is good and it is bad. But the nature of life is change." He coaxed another spoonful of broth into his patient, noting that he was beginning to relax into his pillows as the herbs began to take effect.

"Your Uncle Bilbo carried the Ring for many years. He told me, when he first arrived here, that he felt that it had held him a captive in time . . . that it had prevented him from changing as he should . . . so that he was merely existing instead of living. The Ring prevented him from ageing and that was a bad thing for that is what mortals do. It is your gift from Illuvatar, the Creator.

"When he gave up the Ring his life resumed its normal course. He began to age again, but it happened more swiftly because it had been delayed for so long. He is now the way he should be, for a hobbit of his advanced years. And to him that is a blessing. Although to you I can see that it would not be so."

Frodo nodded. "I suppose I should have been expecting it. But I wasn't. And when I saw him . . ."

"You were expecting to find the confidante that you have known all those years and you feel . . . what? . . . Lonely?" Elrond supplied.

The words left Frodo's lips almost without him thinking them. "Alone . . . I feel so . . . alone . . . As I did all those years ago, when my parents died. It's almost as if he's already dead because he's not the Bilbo I knew." Tears began to track down his face again but a part of him was relieved at having finally admitted to his worst thoughts.

"And the others . . . they don't understand. They have always had their families and they will return to them. But I will have nothing. . Not even old familiar Bag End. Bilbo was all that I had left and now . . . I will be totally alone again."

Elrond set the broth aside and, taking the handkerchief from Frodo's fingers, dabbed at the tears coursing down the hobbit's cheeks. The herbs were calming him enough to enable him to talk but they were not intended to totally dampen his feelings for they needed to be expressed and the healer offered a little comfort by wrapping his hand warmly about Frodo's tiny maimed one.

"It is the nature of living that there is a constant flow of life beginning and ending. And through your time here you will see many people come into your life and then leave it again. For each departure there is often a new arrival and we start the process of building a relationship all over again. In that, elves are no different to mortals.

"And there is always pain when a loved one departs our life, for no-one would wish for a good thing to end. But would you wish, rather, that Bilbo had never been there? For that is the only way that you will ever be spared the pain of parting from someone you love." Elrond paused as the faces of so many, now departed, flowed across his long memory. 

"Could you live in a world without feeling love? I do not believe that you could, for surely that is what your journey has been for . . . To preserve the love in this world."

The words settled like summer rain on parched earth . . . and yet . . . "But it hurts so . . . there is so much pain. I cannot bear it alone."

"Indeed you cannot. Nor should you try. You say that you do not want to add to your friend's burdens, but surely that is the nature of friendship? They would want to share your burden and offer what comfort they can."

Still Frodo shook his head. "I cannot lay this on them. They have been through too much on my account. No."

Elrond sighed and laid a finger under the little hobbit's quivering chin, tilting the face so that he was looking deep into Frodo's weary, tear washed, blue eyes.

"Then I offer myself. Tell me of your journey, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo swallowed and a light suffused his features. "Do you mean . . .?"

Elrond nodded. "I will listen to your tale, your pain, your fears and your regrets."

"Where do I start?"

Hoping to lead his patient in gently, the healer smiled his eyes twinkling. "Well, you could start by telling me how you managed to prevent Legolas and Gimli from killing each other on the first day out of Rivendell."

Frodo giggled in relief, wiping at his tears. "It wasn't easy . . . "


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Frodo stood watching his companions as they checked their luggage and ponies. It was a cold damp October morning and he had decided to wait within the shelter of the porch, for Sam had flatly refused to let his master saddle his own pony.

As he hugged the fine elven cloak more closely about him, familiar gentle warmth touched his mind and he turned, peering back into the relative gloom of the hallway. The door to Lord Elrond's study stood open and its owner waited, outlined in a square of weak sunshine from the room behind him. Frodo stepped out into the yard and tapped Sam on the shoulder.

"I'm just going to have a final word with Master Elrond. I won't be long."

Sam glanced up briefly from where he was adjusting his pony's girth under the watchful eye of Elladan. "Right you are, Mr Frodo."

Frodo slipped back down the hall and Elrond held open the door and waved him in.

Over the past two weeks the small private study was a room that Frodo had come to know quite well and it felt as comfortable to him now as his own study had once been in Bag End. The healer waited while Frodo took his accustomed seat in one of the finely upholstered armchairs by the fire noting that the footstool had been placed ready for him so that his feet did not dangle off the floor, and Elrond sat opposite.

A strong fire blazed in the hearth and Frodo pushed his cloak aside a little. He suspected that it had been laid especially for him for elves did not feel the cold. Ever since Weathertop, however, Frodo had seemed particularly susceptible to the chill autumn weather and on every occasion that he had visited Elrond in this room he had found a fire set in the grate to welcome him.

The elf offered him a cup of fragrant camomile tea. "Have you said your goodbye's to Bilbo?"

Frodo sipped the warm sweet tea savouring the soft, mellow taste, reminiscent of toffee, which he had come to associate with comfort. "We all went to his room, earlier. It didn't seem fair to ask him to come out in the cold to see us off."

Elrond smiled, an expression rarely bestowed on anyone beyond the confines of this room. "He will be sorry to see you leave."

"Will he?" Frodo took another sip of his tea. "I wonder if he will even remember that I was here by this time tomorrow. Dear Bilbo." It was a comment that would have been filled with bitterness less than two weeks ago but now it was spoken only wistfully.

"I think he will remember, Little One. And if he does not, I will remind him," the elf assured him.

Frodo spoke, over the rim of his cup. "Thank you for looking after him all these years. I would take him back to the Shire with us but it is a long journey and I'm not even sure that I will have a house to go back to. I have been away for so long."

"Bilbo will always be welcome in my household, as will you."

From the floor at the side of his chair Elrond lifted a small, leather bound book, which he presented in one slender hand. "I had this made for you."

Setting down his cup on a table at the side of his chair, Frodo accepted the book. On it's green cover was set, in gold, the elven runes for the letters FB and inside it was filled with blank pages of fine cream paper, edged in gold.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond. It's beautiful." Frodo laid it in his lap. "I'm afraid I have no gift for you in return. There was not time to arrange anything. I hope you will forgive me."

"There is one gift that you can give me Frodo…a promise."

"Anything. You have done so much for me."

"Promise me that whenever you are feeling overwhelmed by events you will write your thoughts down in that book. I may not be able to be there with you in person but imagine that by writing them in the book you are talking to me, as you have these recent days. And . . . if you really need to talk to me you can reach me within a few days . . . for as long as I remain in Middle Earth." He paused a moment. "I wish I could stay many years for you but I have already tarried too long on these shores." 

From a pocket hidden with the folds of his robe he produced a small wooden box, which he handed to Frodo. Opening the lid, the hobbit found several tiny silver cylinders; each tied with a fine silken thong. He looked up at the elf in confusion.

"The next party of elves to leave here for the Grey Havens will carry with it a basket containing two doves. They will be delivered to your door when they reach the Shire. If you need me, slip your message into the cylinder and tie it to the leg of one of the doves, then release it. The bird will fly straight to me here, and I will come in answer. You will find me in the Woody End, near the place where you first met Gildor.

Tears sprang afresh to Frodo's eyes. "You would do that for me?"

Elrond's face showed surprise. "Why would I not? I offered you my friendship and that is what a friend would do, is it not?"

"Oh, Lord Elrond. When I was first told that you were a healer I thought only to have the wound on my shoulder healed and I was content with that. But, since my return . . . Since . . . you have done so much more. You have helped to heal my heart; in as much as it can be healed. And you have given me the strength to go on." Frodo rose and came to stand before the elf lord, bowing as formally as he knew how. 

"I am honoured that you consider me a friend and I offer you my friendship in return . . . if you will have it."

The Lord of Imladris placed his hand over Frodo's heart. "I am, in turn, honoured to accept your offer of friendship, Master Frodo Baggins of the Shire." As he drew back his hand he smiled once more and stood. "And now you must away to your other friends lest they become concerned at your absence."

Frodo popped the small box into his coat pocket and followed the tall elf to the door. Turning, he took one last look at the room that had offered him so much comfort, then he followed Elrond down the hall and out onto the wide porch.

Gandalf and Pippin were already seated and were watching, with some amusement, as Elrohir helped Merry mount. There had apparently been some joking going on for Merry and Elrohir were grinning broadly. Sam stood, holding the reins of his own and Frodo's pony, listening while Elladan explained something about the bridle.

Standing on the threshold, Frodo turned to Elrond one last time. "Thank you, again and goodbye. I hope to return to visit Bilbo."

Elrond's eyes grew dark and, suddenly, he was a mighty elven lord. He placed both hands upon Frodo's hair and the little hobbit bowed his head.

"May your journey be filled with joyful meetings and sweet consolation at parting. And when you reach the end of your road, may you find peace."

Lifting his hands he added, in a soft voice that only Frodo could hear, "I think, Frodo, that maybe you will not need to come back, unless you come very soon. For about this time of year, when the leaves are gold before they fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him and, if your burden is still too great, you may join your uncle on his last great journey.

Blinking back his tears once more Frodo bowed quickly and turned for his pony, slipping the slim book into his saddlebag. As they turned to leave the courtyard Sam nudged his pony alongside his master's.

"Look what Master Elrond gave me for you." Sam held out a small earthenware jar, its lid sealed firmly with wax. On a label was the word "Honey", in flowing Quenyan script. Frodo imagined he knew what it would smell like when opened and his eyes filled with unshed tears that Elrond would think to comfort him thus.

"Are you alright, Mr Frodo?"

Frodo took a deep breath, inhaling the cool and subtle fragrance of Imladris in its autumn finery and it seemed to fill his heart and soul with peace.

"You know Sam, I think I am. I am more "alright" than I have felt for many weeks and I am ready to go home." He smiled.

As they rode through the gate Frodo turned in his saddle.

On the steps, framed by the elegant architecture of the porch, stood the tall grey clad figure of the Lord of Imladris, flanked by his sons. Frodo lifted his hand to wave and Elrond raised his arm in return, the low morning sun glinting blue off a jewel on his finger. 

And for a moment Frodo thought a warm breeze blew to him the sweet and comforting scent of honeyed toffee.

THE END.

Many, many thanks to all those of you who have reviewed this tale. I am afraid this ending is rather bitter sweet when you know what happened next but I didn't want to leave you on a sad note.


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